Where's Wilson?
by kiwi-fruit-from-hell
Summary: SLASH set in Damned if you do between Wilson and House eating Chinese and laughing and House alone playing piano.


**Where's Wilson?**

House was beginning to lose track of the movie, and he was fairly sure that it was because Wilson's hip was pressed against his leg. He contemplated standing up to stretch and move back over to the couch but…he was comfy, in an odd way. He tried to push the thought from his mind that he was nearly sat on his best friend's lap, but it kept returning with insistent force. He wondered what Wilson was thinking. House had half tripped over his foot when he brought more beer in from the kitchen, and between his attempts to regain his balance, and Wilson's attempts to stop him from falling, they had ended up tangled loosely on the armchair, House refusing to move on the basis of it all being Wilson's fault.

Wilson was watching the movie, staring at the screen and laughing at the appropriate moments, whilst House was mostly just watching Wilson. When he laughed his nose crinkled up, as did the corners of his eyes. Warmth was radiating from his body, seeping through House's clothing and soothing the muscle aches he had accumulated over the day. He looped his arm over the back of the chair to help support his weight as he shifted. He found his breathing was in perfect time with Wilson's; their chest's rising and falling at the same moment. A small shiver ran down House's spin, and he twitched slightly, causing Wilson to turn and look at him. House held contact with the dark chocolately eyes for as long he could before he felt his cheeks begin to burn.

Good food and good company was starting to take it's toll on the two men, and impending sleep started to drag on Wilson's eyelids. His head slowly drifted across to be resting on House's shoulder, eyes fluttering as sleep came to claim him. Without thinking House ran his fingers across the top of Wilson's head, gently stroking his hair. The chocolately eyes turned to look at him again, with thick lashes half lowered. A lazy smile played across his lips as they moved towards House. In the sudden silence left after the final credits of the movie had rolled, all that could be heard was tentative breathing. House's hand moved around to rest on Wilson's face as he angled his own head downwards. Their lips touched, just barely brushing together, setting off feelings like electrical shocks and feather beds.

House pulled back slowly, placing a restraining hand on Wilson's chest. He felt his heart beating, pounding as fast as his own. His voice came out as a whisper, reverberated in the empty apartment. "I…maybe this isn't a good idea."

Wilson's tongue briefly flicked out over his lips. "Since when does something being a bad idea bother you?"

House levered himself out of the chair to sit on the couch, facing Wilson. They sat in silence, just looking at each other, for what felt like an hour. Wilson opened his mouth to speak and House leant forward. Wilson changed his mind, closed his mouth and leant back.

House swallowed hard and stared down at his hands. "It bothers me, when it's going to affect you."

"I'm not allowed to decide this for myself?"

"Not really, no."

Silence settled back over the room, thick like ashes hanging in the air, obscuring their view of each other and muffling thoughts. Wilson squeezed his eyes tightly shut and rested his head against the back of the chair. His thoughts span in circles and ran off in tangents, except for that one thought that had been with him for as long as he had been friends with House, the thought that had been an ignored background for so long but rocketed to the front of his head with the feel of Greg's lips. _This is how I want everyday to be. _Wilson cleared his throat. "Have you thought about this before?"

House sighed, weary in both body and mind. "I'm not going to have this conversation."

"What? You plan to act like it's nothing?" said Wilson incredulously.

"That's been working pretty well for us so far."

"House, what are you talking about?"

"Well we've both ignored continual flirting for years. It's not different now." House said with bitterness tainting his voice.

"Of course it's different now!"

"How?"

Wilson sat next to House on the couch and slowly trailed a finger over his thigh, applying just enough pressure to be felt. House blinked in a moment of surprise and began to speak, "Wil-"

Wilson took advantage of House's partly open mouth and kissed him, sliding his tongue into the soft, warm mouth and feeling stubble burn against his cheek. He played his tongue across the roof of House's mouth, trying to draw out a reaction, a response. He pulled back slightly to nibble on House's lower lip and heard a faint moan, and a split second later felt hands pulling him closer, running across his back. The hands slid up to his shoulders, one continuing to hold him close and the other's thumb rubbing in small, persistent circles on the back of his neck.

Their lips pressed together hard, crushed between teeth, as Wilson moved to kneel on the couch with his leg's either side of House. He pushed the older man back against the couch cushions and the two continued exploring each other's mouths. Wilson's hips bucked and his groin thrust forward, brushing himself against House's erection with only thin material between them. House moved his hands over Wilson's back and down to his ass, pulling him down onto him again as they frantically licked and nipped at each other's lips. Wilson heard House sharply intake breath and felt him curse against his mouth. He wriggled beneath him, and Wilson was unable to stop himself from moaning once more, before House pushed him away. He sat rubbing the palm of his hand against his thigh.

Automatically Wilson reached to the small, white capped bottle on the coffee table, took out a tiny pill and handed it to House. "Are you ok?"

House dry swallowed the tablet. "Would be if you were a bit more considerate about where you put your legs."

"Sorry."

House glared at him. "I suppose you think it's necessary to have a conversation about this now?"

Wilson ran a hand through his already mussed up hair. He glanced down at his crotch, and back up with an almost guilty look on his face. "I was hoping that we could just carry on from where we left off."

"When was the last time you had sex?" House asked.

"Why does that matter?"

"Is there something about this that you actually want, or are you just horny?"

"Nice, Greg, you must have such a high opinion of me." Wilson muttered dejectedly.

"Oh come on, I'm not your wife, you don't have to pretend to be a saint."

"Just because you don't have any regard for other people doesn't mean I'm the same." Wilson snapped.

"But you are. 5 minutes ago you were cheating on your wife. Oh, I'm sorry, have I offended you?" said House with mock sincerity. "Or how about the way you've just been playing me with the thought that you might misbehave for years?"

"You never said anything to me! How was I supposed to know?"

"Oh, you're right, you're right. You have been so busy chasing pretty blonde things that you are completely oblivious to everyone around you."

"Fuck you, House. You think I would be having marital problems if I hadn't met you? If you weren't in my goddamn head every single day? And half the time I don't even know if you care about me at all!"

"How can you even question that?" House said quietly, sadly, with his head bowed.

"Because I honestly don't know the answer."

"I care about you. Now leave." House glanced up with glittering blue eyes.

"What? No, House, we have to talk."

"No, we don't. Leave, pretend we were a lot more drunk than we are and let things go back to normal."

Wilson shook his head. "House, why? I want to stay. I…like it here."

"Here with someone who might not even care about you?" House sneered.

"I'm sorry, I just…"

"Jimmy, go home to your wife."

Wilson picked up his jacket and shoved his feet into his shoes. "Right, wonder how I could've gotten the impression that you didn't care" he muttered as he stalked about of the apartment.

House slowly limped to his drinks cabinet and poured a scotch around, watching the amber liquid slosh and flow around the ice cubes. He wanted hit himself. He'd manage to push James away in less than half an hour, over nothing something unimportant. An offhand comment made in the heat of the moment that he had latched onto as an escape route, even though he didn't want to get out. The warm sound of James' laugh earlier this evening filled his head as he crossed to the piano. He felt the ghost of hands rubbing his shoulders as he sat down and tapped a note. The sound rung out clear and real, breaking the illusion that House wasn't alone. Nimble fingers that had been on Wilson's hot skin such a short time ago now drifted over the cold keys, and Silent Night rang through Greg's home.


End file.
